


Hybristophilia

by hectocotyle



Series: liquidmantis shenanigans [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Asexual Character, Awkward Boners, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Gore, Masturbation, Nonbinary Character, Other, Vomiting, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectocotyle/pseuds/hectocotyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liquid discovers a whole new appreciation for Mantis and his abilities.</p><p>(Prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5955667/chapters/13689163">Oneironautics</a> set not long after the two first join FOXHOUND.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hybristophilia

“So did you learn anything profound about the human condition from reading all those thousands of minds?”

 

“I learned that everyone sucks. Does that count as profound?”

 

“Ha! That’s just common sense.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, you don’t suck quite as much as most people.”

 

“Whoa there. Tone it down, Casanova, you’re making me blush.”

 

Mantis laughs so hard he chokes on spit. Snickering, Liquid reaches up and give his back a few good thumps. A passing soldier averts his eyes, gives them a wide berth.

 

<Your men are alarmed to see you in such a cheerful mood,> Mantis remarks, switching to thought-speech as he noisily clears his throat. <As far as they’re concerned, it’s a sign of the apocalypse.>

 

<I’m not _that_ grouchy, > Liquid says as they turn a corner, and promptly growls at a soldier who shoots the still-coughing Mantis a strange look. The guy ducks his head and fucks off.

 

<They’re also scared shitless of you because you’re clearly not afraid of me,> says Mantis. <They want in on your secret.>

 

<Which is: you’re the one person whose presence I find moderately tolerable.>

 

<My, such shameless flattery. Who’s the real Casanova around here?>

 

As they head for Liquid’s quarters, he marvels again at how easy it is talking to Mantis. Natural. Like they’d only been apart for days rather than years. Of course, there’s a lot of comfort in knowing Mantis likes him despite having instant access to every awful thought that’s ever crossed his mind.

 

He’d been speaking aloud out of force of habit, but more and more he finds himself following Mantis’s lead when he slips into thought-speech. There’s something cozy, intimate even, about the way Mantis is so at ease with letting him into his head.

 

<Ah, one last thing to take care of before I send you off.> Mantis hovers in place and indicates an approaching group of soldiers with a dismissive toss of his head.

 

Liquid comes to a stop beside him. <What about them?>

 

Mantis waits to speak until all but two of the men have walked by. “Hmmm? What’s this sad excuse for psychic shielding? Come now, at least give me a _challenge_.”

 

Now Liquid can see the two soldiers are frozen in mid-stride—and not of their own will, judging by the erratic jerking of their limbs, the mounting panic in their eyes. “Mantis, what the hell—”

 

“Spies,” Mantis says softly. “I knew our paths would intersect, so it didn’t seem worth raising a big fuss over. I’ll fill you in on the details soon enough, Boss. But first…”

 

He floats over to one spy, then the other, getting up in their faces. “You had to go and make it personal, didn’t you?” Mantis says to the spy in front of him, still not raising his voice. The man lets out a shaky breath. “Gathering intel so your superiors could send in an assassin after my friend Liquid Snake here. Unfortunately for you, hypnotherapists have yet to develop a psychic shield that can keep out FOXHOUND’s new pet abomination.”

 

He backs up next to Liquid. “I’ll load that one up with fabricated memories and false intel to take back to their superiors. With your permission, of course, Boss.”

 

“Be my guest.”

 

“As for the other…”

 

Liquid flashes the unlucky soldier a tooth-filled, mirthless grin. “Do as you like with him.”

 

“With pleasure, Boss. Now then, what would be a really nasty way to die?” Mantis taps his chin, peers at his victim as coolly as if he’s trying to decide what soda he wants from a vending machine.

 

The man’s throat jerks violently, like he’s trying to cry out but can’t.

 

Mantis perks up, snapping his fingers. “Beautiful. Thanks for the inspiration.” He glances aside at Liquid. <This doubles as a chance to show off a neat little technique I invented while I was with the FBI.>

 

Liquid nods, and Mantis raises his thin arms. At once the opening strains of a soft song breeze through the hall. It reminds Liquid of church music—not that he ever spent much time in church—but something about it makes goosebumps break out all along his arms. He blinks at Mantis. <Is that coming from you?>

 

<No. I hired an orchestra to follow me around everywhere. Can’t you see them?>

 

Liquid rolls his eyes. <So what does it do?>

 

Mantis nods toward one of the men. <Why don’t you ask him?>

 

The spy collapses to his knees with a yelp, clawing at his scalp—

 

“And with that I’m in,” he says in a calm voice that isn’t quite his. Lowers his arms, stumbles to his feet. “Piece. Of. Cake.”

 

Liquid stares at Mantis. <You hijacked his brain. That’s fucking awesome.>

 

<Wait ’til you see the grand finale,> his friend says smugly.

 

The hypnotized soldier staggers up to his comrade, who’s still frozen in place. Harshly takes hold of the other man, one hand clamped beneath his chin, one on his shoulder. Angles his own head so that—

 

“No. No, don’t make me do this,” he rasps. “My God, please don’t—!”

 

Mantis’s quiet chuckle gives Liquid a fresh ripple of goosebumps.

 

The spy plunges his teeth into his ally’s neck, crushing the windpipe in a second, flooding his mouth with blood and gristle. With a terrible creaking and snapping of cartilage, he rips out the other man’s throat.

 

Then the only sound to be heard is that eerie song.

 

<Well, that was nice,> says Mantis. He has the soldier shove his ally to the ground, where he gurgles out the last of his life.

 

<Nice,> Liquid echoes faintly.

 

\----------

 

His dreams that night are lined with teeth.

 

Nothing unusual about having unpleasant dreams after witnessing extreme violence, of course. Frankly, he’s seen a lot worse over the years. Explosions splitting men in half, spilling their entrails across scorched terrain.

 

But the tone of the dream shifts, and now Liquid is the one locked in place, head thrown back, throat bared.

 

He can’t see the other person—just hears a whispered _“Eli”_ before jaws gouge into him.

 

\----------

 

Liquid jolts awake to a sour stomach and as hard as he’s ever been in his life.

 

He leaps out of bed and sprints down the hall for the communal bathroom. Doesn’t quite make it to a toilet before the puking starts, has to cup a hand over his mouth to contain the worst of it.

 

Liquid has seen Mantis kill plenty of times, but never with that level of… of calculated brutality. Back then, he’d been a confused, frightened kid lashing out to protect the two of them. But what he did to that spy… that was cruelty for its own sake. That was a clear demonstration of how decades of bitterness have warped Mantis.

 

And here he is getting off to it.

 

_Why._

 

A question which will have to wait until he’s not stupid with fatigue and arousal. With a groan he drops to his knees, leans against the cool porcelain. Jerks open his fly, shoves a hand down his boxers and pulls out his leaking dick, beyond caring whether he’s walked in on. Between the lingering high of the dream and the post-puke relief, it doesn’t take him long to cum, filling his fist and shooting out over the corrugated metal floor. Sweating and weak, he grabs a wad of toilet paper with a trembling hand to mop up the sizeable mess, takes another to wipe the trail of vomit and drool from his chin.  

 

Fuck. Fuck. Mantis is going to know Liquid jacked off to him. He’s going to _know_. And Mantis’s opinion on _that_ topic is no secret to anyone who’s spent more than five minutes talking to him. For Christ’s sake, the last thing he needs is to make things awkward with his only real friend when they’ve just reunited!

 

Back in his quarters, his brain refuses to shut down long enough to let him fall asleep. He throws off the blankets in disgust and sits up.

 

Dawn finds him dipping into the stash of Reese’s Pieces and M&Ms he keeps hidden in the closet. Yes, he’s a stress sweet-eater, so sue him.

 

He’s not sure what to expect from Mantis. Teleporting right into his quarters to tear him a new one, maybe. He can’t say he hasn’t earned it. What really ends up happening is sort of the opposite: Liquid has to stomp over to Mantis’s room and bang on the door because the lazy asshole slept through his alarm. Again.

 

“Mantis, open this door or so help me I’ll break in and hose you with _ice water_.”

 

A guard looks at Liquid like he’s lost his goddamn mind and speeds up to a power walk to avoid the impending carnage.

 

< _Mmmmmmmm,_ > Mantis says, sounding for all the world like a petulant five-year-old.

 

<Intel says they’ve been waiting on you for an hour and a half. What do you want me to tell them? ‘Gee, I know Psycho Mantis is our top psychological warfare specialist and you have important stuff to discuss with him, but he’d really rather just sleep in today. Is that cool with you guys?’>

 

<Okaaay. Geez. Keep your pants on, Boss.>

 

Liquid cringes at his choice of words. There’s a faint click as the door unlocks, but suddenly he’s not so keen on invading Mantis’s space.

 

Gritting his teeth, he enters to find Mantis curled atop one of his cabinets like a cat, expression unreadable. Well, aside from ‘groggy’. Apparently he’d conked out with all his clothes on, right down to the mask and boots.

 

<You know, Mantis, they’ve invented something called a ‘bed’. A lot comfier than stainless steel, or so I’m told. See, there’s one right there in the corner!> It’s a complete disaster, too, the sheets all tangled, pillows littering the floor.

 

<I couldn’t sleep,> says Mantis.

 

Troubled by the lack of snark, Liquid tries again. <And no wonder. Have you _seen_ your bed? >

 

Mantis looks away. <It’s not the bed that’s the problem.> Liquid’s gut seizes up, and Mantis stiffens. <Uh, no, I didn’t mean… that… er, I’m gonna go meet up with the intel team now. Bye.>

 

He teleports out of sight, leaving Liquid to contemplate exactly how deep a hole he’s dug himself.

 

\----------

 

Following false information, the assassin shows up right when and where Mantis tells the intel team he will.

 

Mantis insists on handling the situation himself. Liquid isn’t present to witness the act, but hours later he’s told the cleanup crew are still finding parts of the guy strewn here and there.

 

<Man, he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against you,> Liquid says when their paths cross, hating how artificial his stab at friendly banter sounds. <Almost makes you feel sorry for him.>

 

<He got what was coming to him,> Mantis says simply.

 

Alone at his desk that night, needled by guilt, Liquid leafs through a document on gene therapy from Dr. Clark and resolutely ignores the ache between his thighs.

 

\----------

 

A couple more days of this and Liquid wishes Mantis would get to the point and explode on him, pop his head off like a bottle cap, something, _anything_. Anger, he understands. Anger, he can work with. He has no prior experience with liking someone enough to actually care if he scares them away. Jesus, when it comes to relationships any deeper than a one-night stand he might as well be a troll living under a bridge.

 

His bewilderment escalates when Mantis shows up one night wanting to hang out, but that doesn’t stop him from jumping at the opportunity.

 

<Want some?> Liquid says, holding out his precious M&Ms like a peace offering.

 

<Oh yes. I need to ingest something that doesn’t taste like hospital food.>

 

He crosses his legs and sits in midair above Liquid’s bed to eat, and this isn’t Liquid’s first time noticing his friend has a habit of turning his face away when he lifts his mask to pop in bits of food.

 

He’ll be damned if he lets Mantis feel in any way unwanted. <Help yourself, there’s a shitton more where that came from.> He plops down on the mattress. <You’re welcome to actually touch your butt to the bed, by the way. We’re not fancy around here.>

 

So Mantis touches his butt to the bed.

 

It’s so good being allowed this close to him again, soothing, even if they aren’t doing anything more special than eating junk food in companionable silence. He steals a glimpse of Mantis’s hand splayed out on the sheets between them, the fingers smooth and delicate. His own blunt, scarred fingers itch with the effort of resisting temptation.

 

It doesn’t help matters when Mantis shifts so that their pinkies make the slightest contact. If Mantis notices, he makes no indication of it, just keeps his face turned as he levitates M&Ms into his mouth one by one.

 

When his endurance wears thin, Liquid says, <Fuck, I’m thirsty. I’m going to make a run to the water fountain, okay?>

 

Mantis sniffs. <Like you need my permission. Shall I hold your hand while I’m at it?>

 

He’s fucking with him. Mantis is honest-to-God fucking with him. Now that’s the Mantis he knows.

 

Liquid leaves feeling more lighthearted than he’s been in days.

 

And returns to Mantis snoozing peacefully on his pillow.

 

Yeah. This occurred in the thirty seconds he was out of the room (forty-five if he’s being generous). Looks like they’re sharing a bunk tonight, because no way does Liquid have the heart to kick him out, even if he _is_ fucking with him. Not after this display of trust.

 

He shrugs off his heavy coat, drapes it over a chair. Finds a couple of extra blankets in the closet so he doesn’t have to disturb Mantis pulling out sheets from under him.

 

He flicks off the light and lies down, careful to give Mantis ample space, then pulls the blankets over them both.

 

For once falling asleep comes as naturally as breathing.

 

Perhaps an hour or two have passed when something half-drags him out of his slumber. An unexpected warmth against his chest. Blearily he glances down.

 

Huh. He wouldn’t have taken Mantis for a cuddler.

 

Almost of its own accord, his arm slowly wraps around Mantis. As he drifts off once more, deeply content, he coaches his subconscious: _No morning wood. No morning wood. No morning wood._ And wouldn’t you know it, his subconscious hates him so much it decides to put on a fantastic encore performance of That Dream.

 

What must be minutes later he wakes to the delicious pressure of Mantis’s lower back on his clothed, painfully hard dick.

 

<Gross.> Mantis manages to make the word affectionate. When Liquid scrambles to back off, he says, <No, take care of it.>

 

Liquid’s eyebrows shoot up. <I… what?>

 

Mantis yawns, peeks at him over his shoulder. <I’m curious is all. Go on, have your fun. Just this once.> Liquid exhales sharply as Mantis sleepily pushes back against him.

 

<Ah… if you really don’t mind…> He swings a leg over Mantis’s thigh, grips his scrawny waist and humps. Slowly, drowsily.

 

It’s the best fucking feeling in the world—not so much due to the act itself as the simple knowledge Mantis trusts him enough to let him do it.    

 

<Yes, that’s right, you foul thing. Debase yourself. Give in to those mindless, primitive cravings.> Mantis murmurs a steady stream of insults, fond rather than genuinely venomous. Liquid moans deep in his throat, grinds harder against his friend’s ass. Seems he’s discovering new kinks around every corner these days.

 

He rubs his face in Mantis’s shoulder, huffing quietly as he finds completion. It’s a subtler orgasm than he’s used to, though no less enjoyable for that—a kind of fuzzy, glowing warmth that radiates out to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

 

He disentangles himself from Mantis carefully, rolls onto his back to catch his breath. <You okay over there?>

 

<Hm. A little nauseous, but it’ll pass.>

 

<Oh.> Liquid purses his lips. <Sorry about… er… needs.>

 

He feels Mantis shrug. <Nobody’s perfect.>

 

<Except you, right?>

 

<Well, that goes without saying.>

 

Liquid grins as he gets up for a change of underwear.

 

<I wasn’t upset about… y’know,> Mantis says after he slips back under the covers. <Startled, certainly, but not upset. You have to understand, I’d long since taken it for granted you would never be interested in me as anything more than a friend. That was all well and good—I’m so pathetic when it comes to connecting with people, I was sure I’d screw up any kind of attempt at a relationship anyway. When we met up again and I realized how open you were to the idea after all, I was bound and determined not to give in to temptation; the last thing I wanted was to ruin our friendship with my utter incompetence. My plan was even coming along pretty well until—>

 

<Until I had to go and make things even harder on you. Fuck.>

 

<Don’t beat yourself up over that, Boss. I’ll be happy to do that for you,> Mantis jokes. <Anyway, my point is I wasn’t avoiding you out of anger or mistrust. I simply had no fucking idea how to react. Like I said, _terrible_ at human interaction. You saw how long it took me just to work up the guts to spend time with you in a regular friend way again. >

 

<You know…> Liquid places a gentle hand on his friend’s bony shoulder. <We could be terrible at human interaction _together_ , if you wanted.>

 

Mantis rolls over to face him in the dark. <Eli,> he says softly. <You’d really have me? Craziness and all?>

 

Liquid pats his arm, smiling. <Especially the craziness.>

 

Mantis puffs out a quiet, wondering breath. <You’re completely serious, too. How about that.>

 

Testing the waters, Liquid hooks a couple of fingers under the edge of Mantis’s mask. Lifts it out of the way when Mantis doesn’t object. Leans in close.

 

Did he say the grinding was the best thing in the world? Fuck that. _Kissing_ Mantis is unbelievable, each of his pleased little pants like a hit of concentrated bliss straight to Liquid’s brain.

 

When they finally have to pull apart for breath, Mantis says, <You need to brush your teeth something awful, Boss.>

 

Liquid touches their foreheads together. <Thanks. So do you.>

 

Perhaps it’s their very ineptitude at human relations that makes them so well-suited for each other. They’re on the same wavelength, you might say.

 

At least, he thinks as they doze off in each other’s arms, they won’t have to suck at it alone anymore.

 


End file.
